My love, you must know of a poem, sweet, As sweet as honey, which bees used to keep, Or kiss, that lovers share as means to greet, Or ecstasy of dreams in blissful sleep; The poem has no words, nor any rhyme, But flows in unison with rhythmic beatsOf two hearts cast on acting of a mime, That even how speechless, no script defeats; But then, in open fields or crowded space, On lofty peaks, or down the deepest seas, It glides amazingly with fluid grace, Like arrow that's unswerving in the breeze; ......Such poetry I may, in fact, assign, ......To sight of yours while conversing with mine.